


What is dead may never die

by VanillaMostly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Growing Up, Pre-Canon, Theon-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 03:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18651682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaMostly/pseuds/VanillaMostly
Summary: Theon had to remember, his place was not here. [pre-AGOT]





	What is dead may never die

**Author's Note:**

> do not own!

 

Theon was three, and drowning. Saltwater stung his eyes and as he opened his mouth to scream, more water forced its way down his throat, bitter and cold. He remembered seeing nothing but darkness, roaring waves everywhere about to swallow him whole. All he could hear was a dull _whoosh_ and his own hammering heart. Then there was the searing knot in his stomach, a hot rush down between his legs as he wet himself, and he _swore_ he felt something pulling on his foot, dragging him downwards. _It's the kraken,_ that was his only coherent thought.

 

The steward pulled him out of the waters eventually, and his brothers laughed. _That was no kraken, that was the Drowned God and he didn't even want you, he spat you right back out._ That night he couldn't sleep, in fear that the Drowned God was back to claim him. Theon's mother held him and rocked him, but the commotion awoke his father.  _Leave him,_ he said to Theon's mother in irritation, his brow furrowed,  _a son of the Ironborn does not cry like a craven._ When Theon clung to his mother, his father yanked him away by his hair.  _No seed of mine is a weakling,_ Lord Balon hissed.With each blow that sent Theon’s ear ringing he demanded, _Do you hear?_

 

Soon enough Theon learned to swim as well as any other child, just as he learned not to cry. But on stormy dark nights when the waves crashed against the reefs, he held in his breath and tried not to imagine that a bitter, black-eyed Drowned God was awaiting him.

 

-

 

There was to be a war, and Pyke felt different somehow. Rodrik and Maron looked and acted different, too, and Tris whispered to Theon that was because they were going to fight. "With swords and horses and spears and things," Tris said wistfully. "I wish we were old enough."

 

Theon thought they  _should_ have been old enough. He was ten years old and taller and stronger and better than the squire boys who were older, the master-at-arms  _said_ so. It was not fair that Theon should have to stay back with all the women and babies while his father and brothers got to fight knights and kings over the sea.

 

When he said as much, Asha cuffed him on the head. "Don't be stupid, Shitbrains," she said. She had managed to sneak up on him and it was annoying. "War isn't meant for skinny little boys who can't pull up his breeches," she pointed out.

 

Theon flushed. "I wasn't talking to you, Pimples, and you aren't so much older." Asha just met his scowl with a mocking smile. "Come, Tris," Theon said, but Tris was staring at Asha as he was wont to do with a dopey expression.

 

"Just think - if we win," said Tris eagerly, "you two will be prince and princess _._ "

 

"And what if we lose?" asked Asha.

 

Theon gaped at her; his sister was so incredibly...  _strange_  sometimes. "We will not lose. We have Father."

 

Asha's lips twisted into another infuriating, know-it-all smile. "Oh, my dear baby brother. You are sweet."

 

-

 

The worst was his mother's weeping, but in a way Theon was grateful for it because she made it easier for him to be strong. His mother looked so pathetic with her red eyes, so weak.  _And I am not a weakling,_ he thought. When he kissed his mother goodbye and untangled himself from her grip, his eyes were dry. Asha's eyes were dry too, but she wasn't wearing her usual sardonic smile, not this time. She had no words for him, though her gaze said it all anyway.  _I was right,_ she was telling him, and she might have looked sad, but Theon probably made that up.

 

At last he came to his father, standing there against the blowing wind despite his injured leg, which he hid beneath layers of heavy cloak. Even till now his father would not let anyone think he had lost. "What is dead may never die," he said to Theon. It took a moment for Theon to realize that his father was not looking at him or at anyone in particular, but staring at some point in the distance, in the rocking sea, so perhaps his words weren't meant for Theon but for the ghosts out there instead.

 

As the ship left and Pyke grew smaller and smaller in the last rays of the day, Theon repeated them in his head.  _What is dead may never die._ It didn't make much sense to him. Where he was going, they didn't even worship the Drowned God.

 

-

 

The wolf lord bid Theon come to him, placing a hand on Theon's shoulder. His face was somber and still, yet another mask-like face, but at least he looked at Theon straight on. "Good lad. I am Eddard Stark of Winterfell. From today on..." He hesitated.

 

"My lord," said Theon tonelessly. "I am under your care."

 

"Aye," said Ned Stark, watching him. Theon sensed that he was genuinely sorry, but Theon pulled away. He did not want Lord Stark's pity; he hated anyone's pity. Maybe Ned Stark read his thoughts, because he just sighed and let his hand fall to his side. "You look tired, Theon. Go rest. We have a long journey ahead."

 

The next time Lord Stark spoke to Theon again was after weeks of harsh northern wind and rocky roads brought them to Winterfell's gates. Theon shivered on his horse. It was summer but the sun here gave no warmth and felt a lot farther away. It was quiet, too. No rush of the sea could be heard from here.

 

"Welcome to Winterfell, Theon," Lord Stark told him beneath the shadows of the keep.

 

He helped Theon down from the horse. "While you are here, you are one of our own and Winterfell is your home," promised Lord Stark.

 

 _Will I be one of your own when one day you're forced to kill me?_ Theon wanted to retort, but there was no point.

 

So Theon just said nothing.

 

-

 

For the first fortnight Theon spent at Winterfell, he saw faces he knew in faces of strangers. Maester Luwin bore a resemblance of Maester Qalen, Theon thought when he first met the old man. The woman they called Old Nan had the same hoarse voice as the cook from Pyke who used to sneak Theon sweets (Lord Balon forbid sweets, for they went against _iron and salt_ ). Even a serving wench who poured Theon his drinks had pimples on her nose and dark mop of hair. All she was missing was the lopsided smirk.

 

The illusions didn't last long: all it took was one glance at the Stark family to let him know he was as out of place here as a kraken in a den of wolves.

 

Whether sitting down, walking, or sharing trivial conversations of every day, the Starks looked so happy and so _together_ it made Theon sick. Ned Stark may be stern-faced when he talked to his council or greeted visitors to his castle, but when he was near his wife and children his eyes were practically aglow. This was the man who played a part in ravaging Theon's home, in slaying Theon's people and Theon's brothers... yet bliss was written plainly on his long face as he pulled his little daughter onto his lap, ruffled his son's hair or swaddled his newborn babe. _Did Ned Stark even remember?_ Why should he? He had a perfect family around him to come home to. When Theon watched them, he thought of his own family - a father who shouted, a mother who wept, a sister who mocked, and two brothers dead but whom Theon did not really miss. Then Theon grew angrier because he couldn't _stop_ watching.

 

Of course, there was the bastard, too.

 

Jon Snow should have been the shame of the Lord of Winterfell, but from the way Ned Stark treated him, anyone might think he was a damn prince. Ned Stark let him eat at the same table as his highborn children; educated Snow alongside Theon and Robb Stark; in front of the whole hall Ned Stark would plant a fatherly kiss on his bastard's forehead. His trueborn son rarely left Jon Snow's side. The two of them tussled and chased each other like inseparable pups. Theon had Robb's admiration by being four years older and a head taller, but it was Jon Snow who had Robb's trust and confidence.

 

Nonetheless, Jon Snow was more similar to Theon than Theon liked to admit. The look on Lady Stark's face whenever Jon Snow came into her view said as much. Neither Theon nor the bastard really belonged at Winterfell, despite how much Ned Stark tried to make it seem otherwise. Perhaps that should have made Theon and Jon Snow closer, except it didn't.

 

Perhaps if Jon Snow wasn't such an insolent little prick.

 

"You're a liar," he accused Theon once, in a low voice out of Robb's earshot. Snow knew Robb liked Theon, so he wouldn't dare make a fight in front of his beloved half-brother. That didn't mean he could hold his tongue for long. "You didn't miss yesterday's lesson because you were sick. Where were you, really?"

 

Theon had disappeared into the godswood with one of the serving girls, a pretty one, not the pimply one obviously. "Why? Are you interested in going with me next time?"

 

Jon Snow frowned and Theon almost laughed. The bastard was fond of putting on airs like he was twice his real age. "I will not," he said coldly. "I know honor, unlike you, Greyjoy."

 

 _You ought to call me 'my lord,' bastard._ Theon thought of a better reply, however. "Just like the honor your father knew when he bedded your whore of a mother," Theon said silkily.

 

Jon Snow's fist flew, but Theon danced around in time. Ser Rodrik, Winterfell's master-at-arms, was upon them like a hawk. Grinning, Theon told Ser Rodrik that no, nothing was wrong, they were just practicing hand-to-hand combat.

 

Ser Rodrik departed with a suspicious look askance. Jon Snow was still seething. Theon leaned to whisper in his ear, "Careful, Snow. Wouldn't want to lose your honor."

 

Jon Snow surprised him by responding calmly, "I know. I wouldn't waste any of it on you." He turned away and strode to Robb's side without another word. _Damn brat, someone needs to put him in his place,_ thought Theon not for the first nor last time.

 

-

 

The years went by, one name day melting into another as snowfall after snowfall covered the grounds of Winterfell. Theon grew yet another head taller, and the septa had to measure and make adjustments to his clothes. His voice changed too. When he went into the godswood now with a pretty companion, it was not just to kiss.

 

He was not the only one changed by time; Robb was gaining muscle and bulk while Jon Snow grew tall and lean, although he was still a few inches short of Theon, a fact Theon was smug to note. Meanwhile Ned Stark's eldest daughter, Sansa, was looking more and more like her mother every day. A few more years and marriage prospects would be in the talks for her. Theon was not so sure he could say the same for the younger Stark girl. Little Arya was more animal than human, made all the more unruly by how much Ned Stark spoiled her and egged her on. If anyone needed a good spanking, it was her, thought Theon privately. She was just as bratty as Jon Snow had been - actually, still was - but this made sense because she stuck to him like glue. Like goes with like, Theon supposed. Lady Stark was not so pleased about that, but she was busy these days tending to the sickly-looking Bran while she carried a fifth Stark spawn in her womb.

 

The only person who seemed untouched by time was Ned Stark himself. When he summoned Theon on an early morning and sat in his chair, Ice by his side, Theon suddenly thought back to that day six years ago, kneeling in front of Ned Stark for the first time. Ned Stark's beard might have gone a few strands grey, but else he looked the same as ever, somber and still.

 

As he did the last time, he met Theon's gaze with a clear gaze of his own. "You're looking well," he said, bidding Theon to rise. "I must congratulate you on your accomplishment yesterday on the hunt. A stag, Jory said."

 

"Shot in the eye," said Theon. He could not help a bubble of pride warm his chest.

 

"No small feat," nodded Lord Stark, a slight smile breaking into his normally solemn face. All too quickly, he was grim again. "I'm afraid I bear grave news, Theon." He pulled up a scroll of parchment on the table. "The raven arrived for you at dawn. I... I am sorry."

 

Ned Stark's gaze was suddenly soft. Theon willed his fingers not to tremble as he took the letter and turned it over over; on the back was the gold kraken seal.

 

"Father...?" The word felt foreign on Theon's tongue. He hadn't used it in what felt like forever.

 

"If you wish to read it in your room-"

 

Theon ignored Ned Stark. Unfurling the scroll, he quickly skimmed the writing, reading over the inked words with a pounding heart.

 

Ned Stark put what he must have thought was a comforting hand on Theon's shoulder, just as he did when he first took Theon as a hostage. "Your mother will get better. The gods watch over her."

 

The "grave news" that Ned Stark had referred to turned out to be Theon's mother. The maester from Pyke had written that Lady Alannys suffered from an ailing fever accompanied by delusions that her oldest sons were still alive. Theon, she believed to have been lost at sea. Even under the sleeping draught she kept crying for someone to save her boy and fetch him home.

 

 _She must be thinking of the time I almost drowned,_ thought Theon. He knew of illnesses that made someone live forever trapped in the past.

 

"The gods watch over her," repeated Theon dully, although he never followed the old gods or the Seven. _What is dead may never die._ Who had said that?

 

"Theon," Ned Stark said with a deep sigh. Theon looked up. Ned Stark paused for a long time before continuing, "How would you like to return home?"

 

"What?"

 

It was a stupid reply for Theon to make, but he was just too stunned. He had not expected those words to come from Ned Stark's mouth, not now, not _ever._

 

"I've kept you from your home for six years. That's a long time for a mother to go without her son. For a son to go without his mother, as well." Ned Stark rubbed his face wearily. "It was wrong for me to have taken you in the first place, but some things... had to be done. I wish to right my wrong. If the gods are kind, it's not too late."

 

Theon considered what Ned Stark was saying. Not all of the weight had really sunk in yet. His head buzzed. _Going home..._ He should taste euphoria on his tongue. He should taste relief.

 

But what he tasted was disappointment. 

 

"Let me write to her," he blurted.

 

Ned Stark glanced at him with startled eyes. Theon looked down at the floor as the words began to tumble out in a rush. "I will explain to her where I am, remind her why I'm here. She thinks I'm lost, I'll tell her I'm not. Then she'll stop worrying."

 

"Theon." Ned Stark held out a hand as if to calm him. "I don't understand... do you not want to go home?"

 

He was staring at Theon and Theon did not know quite where to look. _Of course I want to go home. I'm a Greyjoy. My blood is made of iron and salt._ Those thoughts whirled in his head but even so other thoughts were louder. _You want me to go home, Stark. You don't think I belong here. I never belonged here. You want to be rid of me. You'd sooner keep your bastard._

 

Theon was saved the trouble of answering, when at that moment the door flung open and the guard Desmond interrupted them. It was not like him to forget to knock. His face was pale.

 

"My lord, you must come," he said, voice shaking. "Lady Catelyn, she-"

 

Ned Stark's face drained of blood, not that it was rosy to start with. "We will speak of this later, Theon," he said before following Desmond out.

 

-

 

Lady Stark gave everyone a fright for nothing. The early birth of her squalling babe appeared to have made no difference. Rickon he was named and Theon had never seen a fat baby with such a powerful wail that could break eardrums. Ned Stark was beside himself. It was not for a full month before he called Theon back again, but this time even before Ned Stark spoke, Theon sensed what was coming.

 

"Another raven came this morrow for you," Ned Stark told Theon. "Your mother has recovered. She still has a bad cough, but the fever has gone."

 

"I'm glad," murmured Theon.

 

Ned Stark looked uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat. "I did offer to send you home. I am a man who keeps my word, so if you wish to see your mother again you have only need to say so. But if not-" He stopped. "If you should like to stay my ward..."

 

Theon felt a small respite of amusement. It was not common to see Ned Stark flustered. No doubt Lady Catelyn had talked sense to her husband, or Maester Luwin reminded the Lord of Winterfell on the consequences of losing a hostage, or else Ned Stark himself had pictured his old friend the Usurper's expression if word reached King's Landing that the rebel lord had his son returned to him... Maybe Ned Stark just wanted Theon to stay.

 

 _Or maybe dragons breathe on the Wall,_ thought Theon.

 

He did not belong here. Of course he knew that. His blood was of iron and salt, not the ice of the north. His place was at Pyke in the middle of the raging sea, with the Drowned God who had tried to claim him when he was three. His place was with the harsh-faced father and grieving mother, and a pimple-faced sister and two dead brothers. His place was with  _them_ , not here with the Starks.  _They do not think of you as family. Because you're not family._

 

Yet when Theon opened his mouth he found himself to say-

 

"I will stay, my lord."

  

There was something almost like warmth in Ned Stark's eyes, but Theon told himself it was a mere trick of the light. 

 


End file.
